


just touched down in londontown

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Gen, M/M, PJ is a good friend, basically awkward flirting in London, which is the start of every story I write ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: "Hamilton is actually really nice and the plot is very interesting and okay, well, there’s this guy."In which, London is not as bad in the summer, a cute guy dies considerably in Act III and Phil has actually lucked out for once.





	

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, hi, i still write, as it turns out! i've been super busy with personal things so my many wip fics will stay that way for the time being (sorry!) but i sincerely hope this one is nice and cool and stuff.

 

PJ is a pretty good friend, Phil would eventually realise much, _much_ later.

Now, he _would_ be a good friend if he would stop calling Phil at 3 a.m. to ramble about Zelda and text Phil numbers for guys he should totally _pick up_ (really, where does PJ get these people from? He works his summer break at a _mortuary_ ) when he has the chance and reminds Phil periodically to set _him_ up with some of his brother’s housemates at university.

Even if it is PJ’s _fate_ or destiny or whatever to prove the worth of his friendship to Phil further down the space-time continuum, he still unconsciously sets out to make Phil’s life _hell_ until it happens.

 

..

 

“You- _what_?”

“ _Hamilton_ , Phil. America’s big Broadway show?”

Yeah, Phil’s lost him.

“Well, it’s coming to London and guess who scored tickets!” PJ tells him, sing-song, over the crackling line, and Phil can almost imagine the incredulous look PJ has on when he’s met with silence on Phil’s end. Because Phil doesn’t know what the flying fuck PJ is talking about. And true enough, PJ scoffs before Phil has a chance to say anything.

“Trust me, you’ll like it! Lots of singing and dancing and drama, _ooh_ the _mystery_ ,” PJ tells him (too) enthusiastically, like he’s trying to wrap something up with a pretty bow. And that something was a like a _grenade_ or a _hostage._  Yeah, anyway, Phil’s suspicious.

“This wouldn’t have _anything_ to do with _Sophie_ being a theater buff, would it?” Phil says, and that’s when the line goes silent for a while. Phil presumes PJ is trying to come up with some sass or counterargument to reiterate that _Sophie’s_ just _a friend and she’s going up to London and I offered to follow because_ I’m _a good friend_ _and we’re_ all _friends_ _so that’s lovely._

Finally, though, PJ sighs and replies, “What if it was?”

Phil grins.

“I would ask why exactly you want _me_ to third-wheel your quasi-date in London?” Which is an hour away and Phil’s too committed to his sedentary lifestyle this summer that a journey that long would be considered the farthest he’s been this month.

“Because we’re _friends_ -” ah, _there it is_ ,“-and technically, my mum thinks we’re going play-watching because it’s a _summer project_ and frankly, I’d _doubt_ she’d finance the trip if she knew it was a gigantic ploy to woo the hottest girl in Drama,” PJ mumbles, a bit pathetically, and Phil, for what he’s about to agree to, better be getting a giant plaque for Best Wingman next semester.

“Okay, fine, but I expect no less than _three_ bags of popcorn at this dumb show,” Phil tells him, to a giant whoop on the other end of the line, and Phil eyes the calendar on his desk and mentally counts the days till he is forced to part with his nice bed and nicer DS and basically, it takes all of _two_ seconds for Phil to regret every decision he has made up to this point.

_London, here I fucking come._

 

..

 

Hauling himself out of bed to start packing and actually convincing his Mum and Dad that he’s not about to throw his life away and elope to London with PJ takes a bit more effort than Phil initially expected.

The packing because Phil isn’t sure what to bring along on a two day trip to the big city, but, he feels sunscreen (SPF a gajillion, thank you very much) is very much in order. Five bottles of sunscreen and two faded band t-shirts seem more than enough, Phil feels (or that might just be an excuse to stop packing and start on that level of Tomb Raider).

The parents because Phil’s barely _17_ and him and PJ aren’t the most responsible of teenagers. And frankly, more catastrophes seem to happen when they’re together. And so, Phil steels himself through a three-hour lecture about road safety and gets a long list of emergency contacts should they be _arrested_ for something and midway through, Phil’s mum actually wrangles PJ on the phone to listen in as well.

But, at the end, they hesitantly agree to the plan because apparently, this _Hamilton_ play is actually pretty popular and surprisingly educational? More likely: Mum had whispered to Aunt Lydia over the phone later in the morning about one of the actors being _delectable_? And that night, she proceeds to ask Phil to illegally take loads of photos of the _actors_ so that’s that.

Phil doesn’t want to think about it.

(Other things he refuses to think about: temperatures of _30_ degrees Celsius forecasted for the weekend he’s in London and the idea of PJ booking a conjoining two rooms for their stay and the implicit message of _me and Sophie in one and you, sir, alone in the other._

Phil just hopes they aren’t too loud. He shudders at the thought.)

In fact, he’s pretty good at not thinking about things, so much so that the idea of being essentially _deadwood_ hadn’t exactly registered in his mind. Not till he’s in the seat opposite PJ and Sophie and within twenty minutes, they’re _already_ making out against the window.

Phil groans, shifts in his seat to look out the window. At the barren fields and cows grazing the grass, pleasantly oblivious to Phil’s internal crisis. He tries to focus on the positives, still. Maybe the London boys are prettier. Maybe they give better head or something.

A bird slides down and poops all over the other side of the window.

Yeah, maybe not, Phil thinks.

 

..

 

Phil takes it back. All of it. (Except the part where he spends two pounds on an ice cream cone only to have it melt in three seconds in the sweltering heat of London town. Yeah, that part wasn’t so nice.)

Hamilton is actually really _nice_ and the plot is _very_ interesting and okay, well, there’s this _guy_.

This _very_ hot guy, who looks barely Phil’s age and is somehow a legit actor on London’s West End. Who technically only lasts till Act III and and gets shot in the background of some fighting scene. Whatever it is, he was _very_ dramatic. And Phil’s suddenly in love with this guy he’s never met.

Phil sees him first at the corner of the stage in Act I, humming along to the song about a _bastard, orphan_ (maybe? Let's just say he was preoccupied with _other_ things) and bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for his scene. The boy, six-foot and amazingly slender, has on a head full of natural curls and looks so fucking good, even when dressed as an bedraggled, bloody American soldier.

During a funny scene, Phil swears he sees a dimple creasing into his left cheek and  Phil has to bite on his tongue to stop himself from doing anything rash. Like running up to the boy and exclaiming, _you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever seen._ Because then he’d _actually_ be detained and Phil doesn’t particularly want to see the inside of the London Penitentiary so soon.

“Ohmygod, that guy has a gun, _Jesus_ ,” PJ mumbles into Phil’s ear, watching the play with rapt and Phil half-wishes the mysterious hottie was on stage as well so Phil could _kill_ two birds with one stone. Speaking of: “Wait,  _no_ , that Hamilton dude dies?” And Phil abruptly tunes back in to catch the last few bits of monologue and angst and general confusing American history that he doesn’t completely register the boy looking at _him_ instead. Smirking, people would call it. Wider when Phil blushes hotly as they engage in the coveted _eye contact_. Fucking amazing.

The boy waggles a finger at the stage, signalling for Phil to _actually_ pay attention to this award-winning play instead of the obvious pining. Phil smiles, does just that.

A bit later, the curtain falls then is raised again and the names of the cast is read out. (Phil absently wonders if the West End would ever consider reading out the name _and_ mobile number of their hottest cast. For scientific purposes, obviously). And then: “Dan Howell” and the boy salaciously winks in Phil’s general direction, and Phil wonders for a moment if it is for the suave-looking, possible _sugar daddy_ behind him.

And then, Phil realises, he might _never_ know because odds are, he will _never_ see this Dan Howell person again (lest it be on the cover of Vogue UK or one of those magazines at the dentist’s) once he steps out of this palladium. That he might never find out his favourite brew of coffee and if he likes having his hair played with as they practice Shakespeare on the couch in Phil’s lounge. That at the end of the day, all these fantasies and hypotheticals will stay exactly _that;_ imaginary. It feels Phil with this kind of regret that surprises even the most emotional side of him.

He’s 17 and hormonal, he decides.

He must be internally soliloquy-ing for long because he’s suddenly being pulled in a direction opposite of the theater exit and he hears vaguely Sophie saying that she wants to _meet an old friend._ And PJ does what Sophie wants, and Phil, poor guy, by default of wingman-ship, is pulled along for the ride.

Slightly dazed, it isn’t until he’s face-to-face with Dan Howell that he realises that _hey, I’m standing in front of Dan Howell_ and Phil’s sure he lets out a string of expletives when he eventually makes acquaintances with the floorboards beneath him.

He knew at _least_ one fall in London was in the works for him. Just, very bad timing, _god._

“Hi,” Phil stutters out, regaining composure. Which is impossible to do because there Dan stands, all perfect-looking and not side profile anymore, and Phil feels his heartbeat quicken again. “I’m usually this, um,  _clumsy_ ,” he huffs out a laugh then ducks his head because those chestnut brown eyes are looking at him so intently.

“Dan, this is Phil. Phil-” Sophie starts.

“ _Dan_. Yeah,” Phil says stupidly. “Um.”

PJ senses _something_ amiss so he turns to Dan and Sophie, already engaging in pleasantries, and asks,

“How do you two know each other?” With a charming smile directed to only one of them in particular. Sophie blushes. “Me and Dan were in Sec 1 and 2 together in Reading, before I moved to Cambridge.” And PJ nods and smiles like he does at every Sophie anecdote. “He was the Benedick to my Beatrice in our winter production, obviously.”

“Fantastically, might I add,” Dan jokes.

“ _Wow_ , from Reading to West End, could be a book if you ask me,” PJ says, turning to Dan completely.

“Yeah, only a summer thing for now.” He looks up at Phil. “And what do _you_ do, Phil?”

“Oh-” Phil wills himself to regain more coherence than a five year-old, “-um, I go to school with Peej and Soph, haha. I, uh, am also the third wheel of the group, apparently,” he says softly, and the others chortle a bit.

“Oh, no one waiting for you at home, then?” Dan asks; innocently enough but Phil can sense the _fishing_ from a mile away. And so can PJ and Sophie, probably, because they mysteriously wander off then to _check out the props._ Or Phil would bet his money on _finding an empty dressing room._ Either way, he resolves to thank them later.

“None I can think of now, though, rest assured, I have _many_ longing for me,” Phil replies with twinkling eyes, taking a step closer. “I’m like the Troy Bolton of Brighton; physically,  _emotionally_ ,” Phil trails off, finding warmth in the sound Dan makes when he laughs. He wants to do that _more_.

“Really?” Dan looks at him naughtily, wraps an arm around Phil’s bicep and squeezes a little. “Oh, huh. Feels like water, _very_ impressive,” he teases, and Phil cannot think about anything except the light pressure on his arm where Dan hasn’t let go yet. _That_ part is interesting.

“Funny. Well, I cannot respond with anything but the age old saying of black pots and kettles and all that, _Mr-No-Muscles 2.0._ Don’t think I did all that staring for _nothing_. I’m on to you,” Phil flirts back, thinking of when exactly they both dropped the preface of shyness (if Dan had any to begin with) and started _full-on_ going for it; guns ablazing. Dan smirks again, that cute one, the one that would be able to make Phil’s pants drop if he tried hard enough.

“Yes, the staring, _Christ._  It was creeping me out, ngl,” Dan says but his feet still take another step forwards. “M’not exactly used to people staring at the _lowly_ background kid,” Dan says. And _oh_ , Phil thoroughly wants to wipe out the tinge of sadness in Dan’s tone because no one deserves to feel like that;  _insignificant_. Especially not Dan, whose acting drew Phil to him in the first place.

“Hey, no, you’re-” He gets a bit lost in the way Dan’s looking up at him slightly because of the height difference. “- _great_ , let me at least, um, take you to dinner to celebrate  _that_?”

And as per cliché, Dan laughs out a yes.

London isn’t _so_ bad after all.

 

..

 

PJ and Sophie join them briefly for dinner at the pizza place that Dan suggests going to because _the pepperoni is orgasmic._ And Phil likes pizza, sure, but the visuals _that_ leaves Phil with will be enough to last him through years of celibacy, Phil thinks. Because in the small light over them at the table, when Sophie and PJ have left and they have the entire night to themselves, Phil thinks; serious and smitten, that Dan Howell might be _it_ for him. And that he’s already ridiculously falling for this boy and there’s the winding roads between Reading and Brighton to break his fall.

Because it will, eventually, when they part ways after tonight and _yeah_ , the magazines.

“Phil, y’alright?” Phil hears, and he realises he must’ve been silent and staring. He remembers them talking about Buffy. Another checkmark on the long list they have in common. Seriously, these London boys must be _psychic_ or something.

“Yeah, you were saying?”

“Um,” Dan blushes furiously, “-uh, I have this small little living space near the theatre- the management set it up for us from out of the city- and I think my housemate s’out for the night so we can, y’know, _chat_ back there?” And Dan looks so sweet and adorable that Phil forgets any doubts he had for the night and sets the record for how fast he agrees to a booty call, or wherever this night might end up going.

Scratch whatever Phil’s said before, London is fucking magical.

 

..

 

It is the former that lucks out, multiple times, and Phil is slightly disappointed that he wasn’t able to end this date in  _old-fashion_ , with a peck on the cheek and an angry dad flickering the porch lights. But, he can’t exactly complain how the night has gone: Dan blissed out, satiated, and they’re laying comfortably next to each other like two opposing question marks. Phil feels like it’s a sign.

Dan looks at him, grins.

“Well, well, _that_ happened, didn’t it?”

“So good it knocked the memory outta ya? _Shame_ ,” Phil retorts cheekily, reaches under the covers to remind Dan _exactly_ how good it all was.

“Yeah,” Dan hums, stealing a few more kisses. It’s close to 2 in the morning and PJ texted him to _have fun!!!_ Which, knowing PJ, also meant: _don’t come back unless you want to be mentally scarred for life_.

Lucky Phil found Dan after all.

“Mm, I’m falling for you,” Phil says in the heat of the moment, and subsequently freezes. Because _shit_ , this was supposed to be a _fling_ (at least on Dan’s part) and no, he can’t outwardly express _feelings_ about this. Unrequited, unreciprocated- and all the available heart-crushing synonyms- emotions that will lead to Dan’s guilt that he met Phil. That his beauty and charm unknowingly made an absolute loser fall for him. And that he’ll have to awkwardly kick Phil out in the next five seconds.

The last thing he wants is Dan’s _sympathy_.

But, Dan doesn’t kick him out. He laughs, in fact, and Phil feels _more_ sick.

“When you’re done falling, let me know. I’ll tell _you_ the same,” Dan says, so easily, that Phil huffs out a sigh of relief but still wary about the next few moments. Feelings are pesky, Phil knows, especially for two boys who have to part in the morning, so, he settles for some levity.

“You’re sending a boy home tomorrow with some _dangerous_ feelings here, Dan,” Phil says, referencing all the insecurities of the night with a stilted laugh.

“You’re leaving soon, I take it?” Dan looks at him. “I’m, um. Dad’s been talking about the family moving somewhere North. We might be closer, yeah?” There’s some hope wrapped up in his tone and Phil decides he likes that, a lot.

“For real? Will I get to watch _the_ Dan Howell lending his many talents to the local community production sometime in the future? How lucky am I,” Phil says, hopes the ending conveys a lot. Luck, fate, destiny, PJ _fucking_ Liguori, has all led him here. Crazy.

PJ is actually a really good friend.

“Aw, and you’d be _my_ Romeo every time.” It feels like a promise wrapped up in cotton comforters, the satin of a voice and flirty texts and dates waiting for Phil on the horizon.

“Always.” That feels like a promise too.

 

..

 

The next day, Dan accompanies Phil to the train station under the pretense of _I’d better see Sophie before she leaves,_ when everyone and their mothers know who he’s _really_ there for. He manages to programme Dan’s number into his phone before Phil leaves so at least, he has that to look forward to. Even if the relationship (is that what they are? Phil wants to _blush)_  fizzles out, at least Phil knows he can always find a friend in the curly-haired boy he met that one night in London.

“Hey,” he nudges Dan aside. “Just keep acting, ok? You’re fucking amazing at it, and- we’re not um, _exclusive_ or anything so if you find someone else who pines after you at a show, just, yeah, go for it? Just maybe spare the details in our texts, or something, so-” Phil is interrupted by a chaste kiss.

“I will _never_ forget you, Phil, y’ve got nothing to worry about,” Dan smiles, straightens Phil’s collar a little. “And thanks for last night. You made London feel a lot less lonely for the night, and, um.” They grin at each other again. “This is not a goodbye, ok? Just a _hiatus_ , of sorts,” Dan says, and they’ll leave the sap for the lonely nights when they’re apart, he means.

“As long as it’s not longer than _Sherlock_ ’s, I’ll be fucking over the moon,” Phil says, and right then, the train arrives at the station.

“Ok, talk to you soon.” They kiss once more. Phil boards the train, PJ giving him a pat on the back like _glad you came to London, huh?_

Yeah, maybe PJ’s the best.

And soon comes two minutes into the _hiatus_ when Phil texts, _miss me yet?_ Because he has learnt a few things whilst in the city:

  1. He’s an annoying, clingy piece of shit. Dan has said this multiple times.
  2. Phil wasn’t wrong: London boys do, _indeed_ , give better head.
  3. He’s a boy in love so give him some credit for all of the above.



Dan texts back, _in the minutes you’ve left, 100 percent._

 

..

 

When he gets back, Mum asks if Phil managed to take any pictures of the _main stars_ and he shows her pictures of him and Dan along the Thames at night instead and despite her disappointment, she still prints those and sticks them on the fridge.

 

..

 

And when he gets back from winter break a year later in sixth form, he finds a group of students huddled around a canteen table and honestly, Phil’s a bit too much of a busybody to _not_ extract juicy information out of them. His phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Hey, what’s going on?” The incessant chatter pauses for a while but start back up. PJ gives him a bemused look and Phil hears bits and pieces, _new student, Reading, cute to the point of possibly gay._

 

Elsewhere, a text reads:

 

> _romeo, romeo wherefore art thou_

 

Phil smiles, feels warm all over.

 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you liked it? the flirting was subpar because i evidently don't have much practice in that area *sweats nervously* so i profusely apologise. you can talk to me on tumblr at phanetixs.tumblr.com or below in the comments. thanks for reading!


End file.
